


At this hour, lie at my mercy, all mine enemies

by SplinterCell



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Death By Snoo-Snoo, HYDRA Trash Party, Implied Hydra Husbands, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 12:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16284809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplinterCell/pseuds/SplinterCell
Summary: Sam knows when they’ve found the right room even before he sees inside it.The smell rolls through the doorway like a tidal wave, a nauseating miasma of blood, faeces, and urine so strong that it forces him backwards and makes him gag. And underneath that, but no less overpowering, stale sweat and semen.---Steve falls into the hands of his enemies, and they have a pleasant chat.





	At this hour, lie at my mercy, all mine enemies

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the lovely Ineswrites for providing such valuable feedback.

_Lights behind his eyelids._

_Dark, and then light. Dark again. Back to light, back to dark, back to light and—_

_Movement, although he’s barely aware of it. Little more than a sense that the world is rearranging itself around him, flowing around him like a river around a—_

_Pin-prick in his left arm, and the lights don’t come back again._

\---

“Welcome back, Captain.”

The words are almost lost under the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears, and it takes Steve a moment to pull them together into a sentence.

There is a smell accompanying the voice, too; floral, but with a hint of citrus cutting through sweetness. Perfume, Steve realises through his muddled haze. A woman. He can feel her fingertips on his neck checking for his pulse, her other hand resting lightly against his forehead. She’s bending over to get a closer look at him. Close enough, maybe, for him to—

He surges upwards in one violent movement, but the restraints hold fast, and her laugh echoes in his sensitive ears.

“Oh, you are feisty,” she says, but she takes a hasty step backwards, and even in his current state, Steve finds that gratifying. “But I’m afraid you’re not going anywhere just yet.”

He slumps back down onto the gurney panting and rolls his head as far as the restraints will let him, squinting as the light hammers spikes into his brain until the shape resolved into a slim woman with dark hair tucked into a bun. She cocks her head to the side as he regards her and then smiles.

“How are you feeling? You’re running a fever already.”

Like he’s been drugged, which shouldn’t be possible anymore. “What did you do to me?” Each word feels like sandpaper is being dragged over his vocal cords.

She ignores the question. “Do you recognise me?” she asks instead, and the question takes Steve by surprise.

She looks like a thousand other woman he has seen in his life; plain and utterly unremarkable. Only those women have never had him bound and helpless.

She doesn’t seem disappointed when he stays silent. She nods slowly and then slips out of view again. When she returns, she’s dragging a cheap plastic hair with her, the sound of its metal legs dragging across the floor setting his teeth on edge.

She sets it down beside him and sits. “It’s alright if you don’t,” she says, like she’s showing him leniency for some perceived slight. “We weren’t ever properly introduced, anyway. I worked on the Insight project.”

 _Insight_.

“You were Hydra.” His voice is cracked and hoarse, weak even to his own ears.

She smiles again although this time it is little more than an ugly twist of her lips. “No, I still _am_ Hydra,” she corrects. She gestures around them at the room they are in. "We’re still around, here and there, although I think it’s fair to say we’ve seen better days.”

It’s a base, Steve realises as he looks around. An old one if the dirty walls and cracked concrete ceiling are any indication. His memories of before he woke up here are indistinct and blurry, but he knows he was nowhere near a base.

“Forgive me if I can’t bring myself to care you’ve fallen on hard times,” he grinds out with difficulty. “What did you _do_ to me?”

He’s not expecting her to answer this time either, but she does, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on the gurney. “It was given the codename X-16-alpha by the scientists who developed it,” she explains. “How familiar are you with Advanced Idea Mechanics, Captain?”

Steve is aware of AIM although he doesn’t say so. His tormentor doesn’t seem to care.

“They specialise in weapons,” she continues, eyes bright as she warms to her story. "Mostly technological, but every now and then someone will dabble in biology. Extremis was their doing; did you know that? Killian focussed everything on that and lost sight of what else they had.” She lays a hand high on Steve’s thigh, kneading his flesh firmly, and it is only then, with her hand hot against his clammy skin that he realises he’s naked. “But now he’s gone, they’ve been able to focus on other efforts. Other projects.”

“You won’t be able to replicate it,” Steve says with as much cold certainty as he can manage, turning away from her to focus instead on the ceiling overheard.

She’s beside him in an instant, fingers digging into the hinge of his jaw as she—somehow, impossibly—forces his head back around to her. “Oh, don’t worry,” she hisses, her mouth an inch away from his own. Her perfume is thick in his nose. “I don’t care about trying to make more freaks like you. 16-alpha isn’t about that. It was just a couple of nerds’ idea of fun,” she continues, and then to Steve’s horror her other hand slides over his crotch and cups his balls. Steve chokes back a sound of disgust and grunts, trying to twist away from her touch. “‘Sex pollen’ they called it,” she says mildly, like she’s describing what the weather is like outside. “It’s a stupid name, I know, but the best way to think of it is like this: it’s Viagra _on_ Viagra.”

“So that’s it? You’re just a rapist, getting a bit of payback because I messed up your plans?” he asks, and tries to put as much scorn into the words as he can manage when he adds, “how _unimaginative_.”

It hits a nerve if the way her face flushes is any indication, but the same smug, self-satisfied look returns a moment later. She lets go of him and steps back, giving him a frank once-over, and whatever she sees must please her because she nods to herself. “Trust me, Captain, you don’t have anything I’m interested in experiencing for myself.”

Steve watches her walk away until he loses sight of her again, but she doesn’t leave the room. He hears the door open, and a low murmur of voices before the door closes again. He ought to be able to hear the words, but he can’t. Side effect of this ‘sex pollen’, he thinks, along with the weakness and the lingering tingle where she had touched him. He tests the bonds again but whilst he can make them flex and stretch, they won’t break.

There’s a loud _tsk_ from across the room. “Don’t bother,” she calls out. “You’ll just wear yourself out. They’ve been tested extensively on other specimens like you.”

Steve’s blood runs cold. “Bucky,” he breathes, because that’s the only thing she can mean. “Is he here? If you have him, I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” Footsteps echo as she returns, appearing at his bedside with an intent expression of interest. “What would you do to me if I told you that he’s right here on this base just a couple of rooms away?”

 _Hurt you_ , he thinks, with a rush of savage heat. _Tear you apart inch by torturous inch and make you suffer until you’re begging for me to kill you._ But he doesn’t say it. Doesn’t say anything at all, and then her attention is caught by something else off to the side which she waves over.

“We don’t have him anymore, Captain,” she says when she turns back, and it might sound sincere if she didn’t have him strapped down and shot full of experimental drugs.

Steve desperately wants it to be sincere. “Why should I believe you?”

She gives a slight shrug. “Because I don’t need him when I have another old friend to torture you with.” Then she steps aside, and two men enter his view dragging a third along between them.

He’s obviously another prisoner; naked like Steve is, pale and gaunt from lack of sunlight and food, with lank, unkempt hair falling down over his face where it hangs low against his chest. His body is riddled with marks that speak to just how long he’s been held captive; pale, silvery scars that have long since healed, and others which are new and still obscenely pink. Grotesque constellations of sharp, neat little circles that Steve knows are from cigarette burns dot the skin around his collarbones and the insides of his thighs.

Steve sees him and _aches_. He wants to reach out and touch him; draw this pitiful wreck of a man into his arms and tell him that everything will be alright, that he’ll get treatment, and healing, and hope.

“—try this again,” the woman’s saying, when Steve focuses on her again. “How about this one? Do you recognise _him_?”

An old friend, she’d said. But Steve knows his friends are safe, wherever they currently are in the world, and this man looks all wrong to be Bucky.

“He’s useless at this.” That’s directed to the two thugs beside her, and they smirk dutifully. Then she grabs a fistful of the man’s hair and yanks his head up, and Steve’s stomach roils as recognition hits him like a punch to the gut. There’s a new viciousness in her voice when she says, “You _do_ know him, don’t you? Because he sure as hell knows _you_.”

They’ve gouged out one of his eyes, and the other one is so wide with fright that it looks almost black, not a hint of green to be seen as Jack Rollins stares at him with undisguised terror. His throat works madly but only the softest of whimpers make it out of his mouth.

Steve swallows and finds his voice with difficulty. “Let him go.” A headache explodes into existence behind his eyes.

She lets go of Rollins’ hair, and steps forward until she’s all Steve can see again. “Honourable as always, Captain,” she says, “even with an enemy. I can assure you that he deserved every bit of it.”

Nobody deserves that, Steve thinks. Not even Rollins. “He’s one of yours.”

“And his incompetence, Captain, cost us everything,” she whispers, her breath raising goosebumps as it washes across Steve’s face and making him shiver. “Even so, I didn’t really want him. I _wanted_ his commander; he was the one that recruited him. Took a fancy to him and just couldn’t accept that a man who was blind in one eye would never be good enough, so he stole an implant worth more than my goddamn house and fudged the tests to make sure he passed, and then put him in the Council Chamber where he managed to mess up so _spectacularly_.” She steps away and stops in front of Rollins. “Isn’t that right, Jackie?”

The men let go of his arms, and Steve finds himself silently urging him to run, to lunge forwards and fight. But he does neither, just stands there staring down at the ground, and then she delivers a brutal punch to his kidney that drops him to the floor with a solid crunch and follows it up with a swift kick to his chest that sends him sprawling onto his back.

“Unfortunately”—she shakes out her hand as she returns to Steve’s side—“good ol’ Bingo Brock’s gone to ground, so we had to make do with his favourite toy instead. But now it’s time for the fun to come to an end.”

 _Fun._ Yes, Steve knows exactly what sort of fun they had with him.

Steve drags his eyes away from her to look at where Rollins is still lying crumpled on the floor. He’s clutching his abdomen with both hands, his chest heaving with each wet, choking noise he makes. Rollins, Steve realises, is crying.

It’s a dirty thought, not one he’s proud of, but he’d wondered what it would be like to have them at his mercy. They’d been his team for God’s sake, and they’d used every trick in the book to be able to hurt him, to twist the knife of their betrayal as deeply as they could once the truth of Hydra became known.

He’d thought about how it would feel to take revenge, but now that Rollins is here in front of him, suffering and helpless, Steve can’t imagine anything feeling worse.

“I’ll make them pay for this,” he promises, addressing it not to the woman or her two henchmen, but to Rollins himself, and the man looks up when he hears it, his mutilated face making Steve’s blood boil. “Every single one of them that touched you.”

He pulls at the restraints again, grunting from exertion, and this time there’s a creak as something starts to give. One of the goons shouts out a warning, but the woman shushes him with a sharp word, watching and waiting until Steve wears himself out and falls back against the metal with a pained groan.

When she steps into his eyeline again, she’s grinning like a she-demon. “I admire your conviction,” she says, running her tongue along her teeth. “I really do. But alas, it’s not going to happen. See, Captain, you weren’t exactly wrong about what you said earlier. It is about payback, yes, but I’m not going to be the one doling it out this time; you are.”

Steve can’t help the grunt that escapes him when she wraps her hand around his cock in a punishingly tight grip, and her grin gets even wider.

“16-alpha works by generating in its victim an intense and overwhelming compulsion to fuck,” she explains, and then to Steve’s dawning horror she starts to jerk him off. “You dose a girl up with this stuff and she’ll be riding dick like a racehorse for the next eight hours. Doesn’t matter who—or what—that dick is attached to either. Trust me, we watched a lot of _very_ educational recordings.”

The men chuckle, and Rollins cringes further into the floor.

“It won’t work on me,” Steve grinds out, forcing the words out between clenched teeth as he tries to ignore what she’s doing to him.

“Yes, yes. Your precious serum. We _know_ , Captain. That’s why we gave you twenty times the normal dose. Can’t you feel it?”

She gives his cock a firm tug, and revulsion rises with bile in his throat; her grip is too tight, her movements too fast without anything other than his own sweat-slick skin to ease the way, but his body is responding anyway, despite the pain, and heat is starting to prickle under his skin.

“Some people describe it as an itch that gets just gets worse and worse and worse. Others as a throbbing, burning sensation,” she’s saying. Her other hand finds its way to his nipples, pinching and twisting first one and then the other, her sharp nails digging into the sensitive skin around them hard enough to make him hiss. “I wonder though... What does it feel like for _you_?”

Steve spits at her. His throat is too dry to make much saliva, but what little there is ends up on her cheek, and then the world whites out when she dips her head to bite into the muscle where neck meets shoulder, worrying his skin between her teeth. The restraints cut into his thighs as his hips rock up of their own accord into her grip.

Pleasure/pain ripples across his scalp as she wrenches his head up with one hand twisted into his hair. “Look at him,” she urges, turning him to where Rollins is sprawled on the floor, bracketed by the two guards. “You’re going to fuck him, Captain,” she continues, but her words are directed as much to Rollins as they are to him. She still hasn’t let go of his cock. “You’re going to fuck him so hard his pelvis snaps under your hands and his guts fall out of his asshole, and then you’re going to fuck his throat until his jaw breaks and you rupture it.” She laughs again, a mad and maniacal sound that makes Steve’s skin crawl. “I’ll be honest, we don’t know exactly how long it’s going to last for you. Definitely a day. Maybe even more. But what we _do_ know is that he’s going to run out of usable holes long before you’re done, so you’ll probably end up making a few new ones. And that’s not even the best bit! Do you want to know what the best bit is?”

“Fuck you,” Steve tries to snarl but the words are lost in a broken moan, and she tuts.

“Language,” she breathes. She forces his head around until he’s staring up into one of the corners of the room. “The best bit is that we’re being recorded,” she announces in a stage whisper. There’s a camera there he hadn’t noticed before gleaming on the wall; brand new and incongruous in this ruined place. He knows it’s not the only one. “Full video _and_ audio, very high definition. Multiple angles, of course. The whole world is going to get to see you serve some justice, _Captain_.”

\---

Sam knows when they’ve found the right room even before he sees inside it.

The smell rolls through the doorway like a tidal wave, a nauseating miasma of blood, faeces, and urine so strong that it forces him backwards and makes him gag. And underneath that, but no less overpowering, stale sweat and semen.

Even Natasha hesitates before entering. Sam follows closely behind, sweeping the corners of the room out of instinct, but it’s as empty as the rest of the base.

Empty, that is, except for the man huddled against the far wall, and the…shape he is cradling against his chest.

“ _Steve_.” Natasha’s voice is the softest Sam’s ever heard it.

She hurries forward, but he hangs back near the doorway. His legs feel rooted to the ground, and he can’t make them move, can’t force himself to follow her. So instead he keeps an eye out for enemies that he knows won’t appear and listens to the low murmur of her voice telling Steve that they’re here, and he’s safe, and that everything is going to be all right, and that he needs to let go now—

“I can’t leave him.” Steve’s voice is smaller than Sam could have ever imagined it, and little more than a hoarse whisper. It tears at his heart to hear it, drags him out of whatever state he was in and propels him forwards.

Natasha is crouched down, one hand cupping Steve’s tear-streaked face. “There’s nothing you can do,” she says, still ever so gentle. “You need to let me—”

“He’s still alive,” Steve cuts in, his voice breaking on the last word. “He’s not… He _didn’t…_ ” He looks down, and so does Natasha, and so does Sam and _oh_ how Sam wishes he hadn’t.

Because the limp, bloodied thing in Steve’s arms moves when Natasha reaches out a hand to touch it, and moans.

Sam barely makes it a couple of steps before he vomits.

**Author's Note:**

> Does this qualify as idfic? I think it might


End file.
